“A distinguished gentleman. To make you proud.” Rosalind collapsed onto a chair, looking out over the deer park covered in a fresh snow. “It’s been a long journey.”
Eddie wasn’t certain what to say. He’d known Lady Ricker had been married before she’d moved to England. Her first husband, the staff had whispered, owned half of Boston. But Eddie had been working here for almost four years now and no one had whispered about a daughter.
Rosalind tossed off her leather pumps. One of the heels was missing. “Papa sends his love.”
Eddie looked between the two women before settling his gaze on Lady Ricker. He’d known she had other lovers over the years, but thought she’d ended all of her relationships, except perhaps with Admiral Drague. “Who’s her father?”
Lady Ricker lit another cigarette and then took a long drag on it. “No one of significance.”
Rosalind swept her hands around the upholstered arms of the chair. “He’ll be thrilled to hear you say that.”
Anger boiled inside him. The women were playing some sort of game, and he wasn’t going to play along with them. “Where’s your father?” he asked.
“In Paris at the moment, meeting with Goebbels.” Rosalind leaned back on the chair, closed her eyes. “I’m famished.”
“Eddie will fetch you some food.”
“Oh, would you, Eddie?” She glanced over, winking at him.
“Don’t say anything to the others about her,” Lady Ricker commanded.
“Of course not.”
He looked away, deciding right then and there that the sooner Rosalind was gone, the better it would be for them all.
CHAPTER 35
_____
Quenby chugged down a cup of Colombian coffee made in her room’s Keurig. She’d been up much of the night, rereading the translations of Brigitte’s letters on her iPad, trying to piece together any hint of where Brigitte might have gone after the abrupt ending of her story in 1943.
Maybe she ran away with her new friend in spite of her fears. Or maybe another one of Hitler’s men had broken into her room, and she’d decided to run from him.
God forbid that any of those men had their way with her. The thought of it made Quenby’s stomach roll.
If Brigitte had left with an acquaintance, it meant someone else knew where she went, but nothing in her letter hinted at the age, nationality, or even gender of this mystery friend.
After showering, Quenby dressed in cropped jeans and a taupe blouse, switching her clumsy wellies to summer sandals since they had no plans to trek back into the forest this morning. She and Lucas would return to London today, though she wasn’t anxious to go home. Some days she liked getting lost in the crowds, but other days, like today, she didn’t want to be lost at all.
Back in her flat, she would read through the letters one more time, along with her notes, before she continued her search.
At a quarter till eight, she met Lucas down in the small library on the bottom floor of her inn. After closing the door behind her, she joined him on the formal settee. His laptop was propped up on a stack of books, the screen facing them as they waited for Mr. Knight’s morning call.
Mr. Knight’s face was darkened by shadows on the screen, the windows behind his desk black. It was almost midnight in the San Juans.
“Hello, Lucas,” he greeted, as if the man beside her were his nephew or grandson.
“Good evening, sir.” Lucas reached to adjust the brightness, and Mr. Knight’s wild white hair filled up most of the screen.
Mr. Knight leaned forward, squinting. “Miss Vaughn?”
She leaned closer to the camera. “I’m here.”
“Very good.” He looked down at the desk beside him and picked up a stack of papers. “You’ve uncovered quite a bit already.”
“It appears that Brigitte left a trail for you after all.”
“My earlier investigators should have found the tin in Newhaven,” he said.
She glanced at Lucas before turning back toward the screen. “You mean the one on Mulberry Lane.”
“No.” Mr. Knight shook his head. “At the Mill House.”
“Your investigators knew about the Mill House?”
“Of course.”
When she looked at Lucas again, he didn’t look back at her. Heat crawled across her skin. Why had they been withholding information from her? And how much more did they know?
“Why didn’t you—?” she started, but Lucas stopped her. Not with a word, to her or Mr. Knight, but he gently placed his hand on her knee, signaling her not to probe. At his touch, a tremor rocketed through her.
Clearing her throat, she decided to change direction. Later she would ask about the Mill House. It was completely unproductive for her to unearth a trail that had already been blazed.
“Did you read the letters we found?” she asked, not knowing whether Mr. Knight had found the letters as well in years past.
“Not yet.” He looked down, and then his eyes returned to the screen. “Is she well?”
Quenby hesitated. “She was hungry and worried. She missed you.”
“Any idea where she went?”
“Not yet.”